


Mesalliance of Red October

by Lana_Fair



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Dancer Yuuri Katsuki, F/M, Fluff, History Complaint, I might end up changing the title, I'm not using the nickname Yurio in there, M/M, No Beta, Romance, Royalty AU, Viktor is Tsarevich, Yuri is Yuri, Yuuri is Yuuri, history au, kind of, my excuse to cry over how pretty Yuuri is, reposted because the publish date was the date I saved the first draft on AO3, teen and up for future chapters, thought you'd want to know beforehand, viktor and Yuri are brothers, you can say it's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 06:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12102372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lana_Fair/pseuds/Lana_Fair
Summary: The year is 1911, the world is at the verge of a great war, Russia is going through drastic change that will become a deadly threat to the royal family, and that's when Tsarevich Viktor Aleksandrovich Romanov falls in love.“I am 20 of age. As my father's successor, I participate in international congresses that might change not only Mother Russia, but also the whole world.I still have no idea how the changing world would change my life."Or,history AU nobody asked for. It's for me, I'm this selfish.(reposted, because I just noticed the draft was saved on 02.09.17 and that's the date the fic was published with)





	Mesalliance of Red October

**Author's Note:**

> *jumps onto the Yuri on Ice fanfiction bandwagon one year late with a dying phone battery and starbucks* hiya there, I'm always this late.  
> Ayyyy, I'm going to regret this.  
> Disclaimer: Yuri on Ice doesn't belong to me, yada yada, if it did we'd get a kiss in every episode possible.
> 
> Basically, this is a history AU I, somehow, got obsessed with, and couldn't help it but to indulge myself with the idea. I can hear all abandoned works of mine cry in the corner. I have no regrets (yet).
> 
> This is not beta-ed, I tried to edit it myself, but there's only so much I can do with my own writing and mistakes. This is the longest chapter I have ever written, so I'm quite nervous about it.
> 
> Now, please enjoy this mess I call a fanfic.

  _**Tsarskoye Selo, 1911** _

 

_My name is Viktor Alexandrovich Romanov. I am the oldest son of the Tsar of Russia, thus the first in the line of succession would my father decide to step back. I was born on a snowy night on December 25th, 1891, at the Winter Palace in Saint Petersburg, Russia. It is believed that my father, Tsar Alexander III, prayed the whole night to thank the God for a son before seeing me. I must admit, as strict as he is, my father loved every child of his. His love has brought him pain; from the eight of us, only I have reached the adulthood. My little brother, Yuri, is barely 9 and very sickly; at times, I fear for his life. I love him dearly, just like my father, and pray every day for his health. I fear my father would not survive losing another child._

_My mother, Maria, is certainly possessive of us, to the point where even we started to notice that fact. She likes to take care of Yuri to the point of spoiling – it's my father's job to ensure that boy would not be spoiled rotten. After all, he is the Grand Duke, and, if anything were to happen to me, Yuri has to be raised to eventually become a Tsarevich._

_As of today, we have moved in to Tsarskoye Selo. Along with a new chapter of my life, I would like to start a brand new journal to separate my memories of various periods. We have lived in Gatchina Palace for safety reasons after the death of my grandfather, Alexander II. Gatchina Palace was also the place of birth of Yuri – I hope he will adapt to the new environment easily._

_I am considered to be an unusual Tsarevich – at the age of 20, I am yet go get engaged, and I do not like to think about marriage. I enjoy learning, just as I enjoy politics, however I believe it is my right to get some freedom before finally settling down and becoming a Tsar. For this reason, I wear my hair long. I'm proud of it, however I am aware that my father wishes he could cut it short with a table knife during dinners. He is probably afraid that my beauty may take the attention away from my knowledge. My mother claims that is not the reason, however I do not see any other reason why he would do that._

_I spend my days studying under a tutelage of my mentor, Yakov Dimiriyevich Feltsman. He loves me as his own son, even if the way he is expressing his fondness towards my person are odd. His wife, the former prima of Bolshoi ballet, madame Lilia Baranovskaya used to be my governess. Now she takes care of Yuri's teaching. I am intimidated by her, however my little brother absolutely adores her – I do not understand that. Because of her, Yuri took interest in ballet; another thing my father does not support. I am happy that he does not forbid us from doing what we love._

 

 

A tug on Viktor's hand caused him to create a lovely, albeit shaky and unnecessary line all over the page. The Tsarevich let out a quiet sight; that's too much ink. It has most likely already soaked through several pages of the notebook. So much of having a brand new journal to write all his memories in.

"Vitya, what are you doing?" little Yuri seemed unfazed with the damage he had caused. He continued on tugging Viktor's arm, even after he had his brother's full attention.

"I'm... I was trying to write." Viktor smiled as he put the elegant foundant pen back into the drawer of his desk. He liked that pen, and Yuri was a tiny bit too destructive. As they say, better save than sorry.

Another tug. "Will you come play with me?" when needed, Yuri could be a real angel. It was needed at the moment, and Viktor, as strong willed as he was, proved to be weak against the puppy eyes Yuri was using against him.

"And are you feeling well today?" poor Yuri suffered from several colds every year at the beginning of Spring. This year was no different, and Yuri was bedridden just several days ago with a fever.

One would think that a child who loved winter games and playing in the snow like Yuri did would have a stronger immune system. That wasn't a case here.

Yuri puffed up his cheeks, trying to look bigger. "I could fight a lion!"

"I don't think that would be a good idea." Viktor chuckled. His little brother was so cute!

"I want to fight a lion, Vitya!"

"Please, do not fight a lion." Viktor made a mental note to tell his father, and maybe Lilia, Yuri's governess, about the boy's ambition. The more people knew, the less possible that Yuri would do something utterly stupid.

Yuri's cheeks puffed up in annoyance that Viktor was making fun of him. He wanted to be taken seriously, he was 8 already! Almost a grown up! He may be sicklish, but even his father said if Yuri was ever to grown out of his childlish, weak immune system he would become a great warrior. That must mean something, and yet Viktor kept making fun of his ambitions.

What Yuri thought as a scowl proved to be one of the most adorable little pouts Viktor has ever seen in his entire life. A giggle left his mouth, the sight too much for him to hold it back. Yuri screamed out in annoyance.

“Okay, I'm sorry, brother. I'm sorry.” Viktor smiled, hoping he still could stop the upcoming tantrum. “What about that, I'll race you to the gardens. If you win, I'm going to teach you to ride my bicycle. Without me holding you. Sounds good?” Yuri loved riding a bicycle, but was too small to have his own, and in order to use Viktor's he needed help to sit on the saddle. Viktor was unfairly tall, Yuri kept saying. And liked to show off. And making Yuri angry.

But a race? Yuri was fast. He was faster than their cousin Mila, from whom he had to run away not to be carried around like a doll she kept insisting Yuri was. He was almost as fast as Georgi, and Georgi was Viktor's age; but unlike Viktor, Georgi didn't have a strict training schedule, and wasn't obliged to go to the army for a year. Georgi was more interested in fashion, in latest gossips, and boring stuff rather than in sport, or running in this matter. But he was 20, and Yuri was faster than him at 8.

With a good strategy, Yuri could win this race. Viktor would _have_ to teach him. Perfect.

“I hope you're ready to lose!” Yuri shouted out and started to run, not waiting for a fair start; being fair would mean giving Viktor advantage. And Yuri often heard that a little lie, or a cheat, never hurt anyone.

“So that's how we're playing?” Viktor shouted after him. He waited a few seconds before starting his own run. He pulled his long, silver hair into a bun, knowing that leaving it in his usual ponytail would make Yura try to grab it to make Viktor lose. The plush carpet muffled the sounds of their steps; the only thing that didn't alarm anyone and get them in trouble. The corridors of the Tsarskoye Selo were long and unfamilliar, and the brothers knew only one way to the gardens. Viktor knew that there were a few secret corridors, and most likely would use them to his advantage, but he was yet to be told where exactly they were. And, seeing how Yuri stubbornly kept running, despite his already rapid breath, this was not a right timing for such a cheat. It was a matter of life and death for the boy; another mental note for Viktor, they had to teach Yuri not to take everything so seriously.

By the time they reached the stairs, Viktor was right behind Yuri. He didn't even break a sweat, Yuri's short legs being no match for his. However, he still slowed down, fearing if he were to outrun Yuri now, the boy would do something stupid, and hurt himself in the process. Like trying to run even faster and falling down the stairs.

No, Viktor waited until Yuri was at the bottom of the stairs, where there was no threat he might trip and fall. He jumped over the last few steps, and quickly found his footing back; he'd done worse back at the training in the army.

“See you in the gardens, Yurachka!” Viktor laughed as he took a turn around the corner, knowing that the door was just at the end for that corridor. But, he stopped abrubtly in his tracks at the sight of his father. Luckily, the Tsar was alone, so Viktor could hope to leave without being reprimanded. Such a behaviour was unseen for a person of his rank and importance. His father's advisors liked to remind Viktor of that.

“Vitya?” Alexander was, clearly, surprised at the sight of his oldest son with a breath quicker than usual.

“Hello, papa. How are you feeling on this lovely day?” Viktor wanted to play it fast, and possibly smart, but was interrupted by Yuri running straight onto him. He didn't notice Viktor stopped, and the impact made Viktor flinch, his perfect stance, and perfect plan, be damned.

“Do I want to know what the two of you are up to this time?” Alexander let out a sigh; it looked like he wasn't going to bother asking about Yuri's well being. If the boy had the strength to throw profanities left and right no one knew where Yuri picked up at, despite being scolded way too many times to count, then he was okay. When sick, Yuri turned into a hug monster that whined all the time.

Viktor flashed his father with a well trained smile. “Not really, papa.” both Viktor and his father knew by his tone alone that there were a multiple reasons the Tsar should be concerned, but decided against it. Never before had Viktor proved to Alexander he wasn't capable of taking care of his little brother, and Alexander doubted he would do so now. Despite his childlish attitude, and a very selective memory, a feature that seemed to get worse and worse each year, Viktor was a mature young man.

Who knows, Alexander often thought, maybe those characteristics of Viktor would prove to be useful in the future, when the Tsarevich will take over the throne. Selective memory was better than acting on impulse, a feature a future Tsar shouldn't have, in the best interest of the country.

Such a shame that, next to the selective memory, impulsiveness was one of the main characteristics of Viktor.

“I'm going to ride a bicycle!” Yuri puffed his chest out again, and stood on his toes in an attempt to make himself look taller and bigger to get more attentions. He was absolutely adorable, Viktor squealed internally. He'd learned not to show his love towards adorable things long ago, when Yura used to even bite him when pissed enough.

“Vitya...” his father's voice got colder, and sounded more like a growl. It was clear that he did not support the idea.

“It wasn't even with me!” last time Yuri was allowed to sit on a saddle of a bicycle, he got too excited and managed to knock himself down. It was during a festival, with many of their relatives, friends of the crown, and foreign guests present; all have witnessed Yuri's fall. His pride hurt more than his broken wrist, scraped elbow and bruised cheek.

At least Yuri liked to say so.

“I promise to look after him. As always, papa.” Viktor put his hand on Yuri's head and leaned over him, making the boy's knees buckle. He ignored the painful jab to his ribs.

“You better do. And I will ask Yakov if it was true that you were studying this morning.” Viktor's smile didn't flinch, but he decided it was best to start to prepare for the storm that was coming. If Alexander didn't like it when Viktor skipped his lessons, then Yakov Feltsman, probably the only man in the whole of Russia who could teach Viktor _anything,_ despised it. And screamed a lot. And made Viktor catch up with the missed material, as well as do their planned studies, _and_ added what he had scheduled for the next lesson to try to discipline Viktor.

It never worked, and Viktor kept skipping the study time.

“Look after your brother, Vitya. And you, Yurachka,” Alexander mussed Yuri's golden hair, much to the boy's annoyance. “Don't do anything reckless. Listen to Vitya, and _don't_ hurt yourself again, for God's sake.” Alexander's voice was full of worry of a parent who already had lost too much, and couldn't even bear a thought of losing even more. Yuri still didn't get it, for him it was an annoying nagging, but Viktor knew. Viktor understood, and didn't was to see any of his family in pain and dying ever again.

Yuri pouted, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I won't.” he mumbled quietly, offended. He didn't like it when his failures where mentioned, even if it was in the interest of his. There were times wen Viktor wondered where the boy had picked up such a character trait. Viktor himself wasn't like this, so it was even more deliberating. Viktor took criticism well, learned from his mistakes, a complete opposite of Yuri.

At least that's what he liked to think. Behind his back, everyone commented how the brothers were similar in terms of behaviour.

Alexander nodded, content with Yuri's answer. “Good. Have fun, boys, but be back for dinner. Vitya, remember you have a meeting planned this afternoon...” Viktor interrupted him.

“A meeting to talk about my trip to Japan. I know, father. I won't skip it, I understand its importance.” the alliance of Russia with Japan was on a stake. There was too much to lose, and Viktor wasn't so stupid to let his reluctance to attend a boring meeting negate months of hard work and debates.

Alexander let out a breathy laugh. “Don't act so smart, Vitya. It's the first time you'll be alone for such an important matter, and I expect only the best from you. Take it as a lesson for your future duties. Now.” he gave his sons a polite nod signalling the end of a talk, and disappeared around the corner, going in the direction neither knew where led to.

When Alexander's heavy steps that even the carpet couldn't muffle got far enough for Viktor to be sure he couldn't hear them, he looked at Yuri and said. “I'm done. Yakov will have me skinned alive, then cooked and he'll feed me to the horses. I'm so done.”

“Well, we better hurry, then. Teach me while you're still alive” Yuri chuckled, that heartless brat, knowing what would happen if Alexander would meet with Yakov. Viktor was notorious for skipping lessons.

Not that Yuri was anything better. Lilia Baranovskaya, Yakov's wife and Viktor's previous gouverness, would have something to say about that for sure.

“Silence, little brother. If I go down, you're going down with me.”

“You wish!”

 

* * *

 

Yuri was doing, a kind of wobbly, but still good job. Despite losing the race after Viktor might have cheated and picked it up when Yuri was least expecting it, he was allowed to ride for a few metters without help. The bicycle was big for him, and Yuri wasn't quite used to keeping his balance yet, but Viktor decided to humor him. Yuri's legs were dangling miserably when he was sitting on the saddle, to short to touch the pedals, but they made it work. Still, it seemed Yuri had much more fun when it was Viktor who was controlling the bicycle. Leading it by holding the handlebar and the tube of the saddle wasn't easy, but Yuri's sparkling eyes and smiling face was a good reward for Viktor's trouble. It was worth it.

“Vitya?” Viktor hummed to show he was listening, his eyes set on a nest up the tree. He could hear chirping of nestlings in there; it made him wonder what kind of birds were living there.

“Can I go with you?” Viktor turned his head to look at Yuri. His eyes were wide, flled with hope.

“To Japan?” Yuri nodded before answearing.

“Yeah. You get to travel all the time, and I'm stuck at home.” Viktor chuckled. So innocent, that Yurachka. Still didn't understand how their world worked.

“I don't travel for pleasure. Besides, it's safer for you to stay at home.” Yuri pouted at the answer, clearly unsatisfied with it.

“But I'm big already! I can take care of myself, I won't distrub you. You won't even notice I'm there.” his voice got this sweet, pleading tone again, but this time Viktor would have to refuse. The trip was too long, he had to travel through the entire Russia and then some more. It would most likely take a week alone to reach the port in Vladivostok, along with the mandatory stop at Novoviktorayevsk, a city named after him.

Honestly, what was his father thinking, changing a town named after himself into a prosperous city named after his son.

Once the Trans-Siberian Railway was opened once again, Viktor hoped it would take less time to get to Vladivostok. He'd like to get there by train even now, but the station wasn't even done there, and the railway itself wasn't close to being done with the repairs after the war. Viktor tensed at the thought of the war. He'd have to talk about it in just a few days like it was nothing, like it weren't people that had suffered, but only the interests of countries. If there was something Viktor hated in politics, it was how it treated innocent citizens. No wonder there was a danger of a revolution; Viktor wanted to change that, he wanted to work with anyone who could help him make Russia a better place for everyone after becoming a Tsar. He just hoped it wouldn't be too late.

“Yura, it's... the journey is long. And dangerous. You get bored on the way to Moscow, and the road to Novoviktorayevsk is about four times further.” Yuri's face twitched in a grimace at the sheer thought of such a long journey.

“It takes a whole day to go to Moscow! Of course I get bored!”

“My point is, you can't spend 16 hours on a train.” Yuri pouted, and the stubborn look in his eyes told Viktor that the boy was far from being done arguing.

“And from Novoviktorayevsk to Japan?”

“It's about 6 days to Vladivostok. I don't know how long it will take to sail to Japan, alone how far Tokyo is from the sea port.” Yura looked at Viktor, eyes big with terror.

“I don't want you to go there.” he said with a silent voice, his mouth almost not moving. Viktor rose his brow in wonder.

“Why?”

“You'll be gone for so long. I don't want you to go there.” it sounded so sad, Viktor had no other choice but to start laughing. That little Yura. His face wasn't helping Viktor contain his laughter at all. Yuri looked downright _terrified_.

The boy seemed to be so taken with the information that a journey to Japan would take over a week of sheer travel, he forgot to be mad at his brother for laughing.

“Yura... _aahahaha..._ I'm... I'm afraid I don't have much choice.” the laughter bubbling down his throat made it hard to speak. Made it hard to breathe, actually. Oh, Viktor was going to miss Yuri so much, and the realisation of how long he's going to be away from home made him reluctant to leave. Viktor was trying to see his political journey as an adventure, but he could live without the days he'd have to spend on a train.

Japan just had to be on the other side of the world.

Viktor stopped the bicycle, and helped Yuri down. The boy was heavier than the last time Viktor had been carrying him around, which was good. More weight meant Yura was healthy enough to eat and gain some muscle. It made Viktor happy, even if his arms hurt after holding him for long periods of time.

Yuri looked even more vulnerable and cute now there was such a height difference between them. Viktor wanted to protect his little brother, and, despite the sadness written on his face, Yuri made the whole ordeal worth the in the long run.

“Yuri, listen.” Viktor kneeled down to be at the eye height with Yuri. “We, as royals, have a privilege of living without worry for tomorrow. We can learn, we can expand our knowledge. But, because of that, we are obliged to do something in return. To give something back. My trip to Japan, it's me giving that something back to our people.

Once you grow up, you're going to become my successor. You'll be expected to give that something back, even at times when you don't feel you're ought to, or if it's fair. But, Yuri, with those priviledges comes a great responsibility. It's my responsibility to go to Japan. It's going to be my responsibility to go anywhere I'll need to be if it's going to be good for our people. Do you understand?” Yuri's bottom lip was pushed out in a pout, and his brow was furrowed; he was trying to encompass what Viktor meant with his childlish way of reasoning.

“I... do... I think...” a tiniest smile appeared on Viktor's lips. He raised his hand from where it was nonchalantly draped over his knee, and run his fingers through Yuri's golden hair. The boy leaned in to the affectionate gesture; Viktor was probably the only person who could get this reaction out of Yuri.

“You're a smart boy.” He knew Yuri would eventually understand. And, if Yuri was anything like Viktor, he would do anything in his might to give as much of himself as possible.

“Let's go home, it's late.”

 

* * *

 

Viktor was woken up abrubtly when the train skipped on a railway switch, and he thumped his head against the window he was leaning on. He yawned and looked around with sleepy eyes; it was dark, meaning it was late and he shouldn't have fallen asleep after they left Moscow. He could hear a distinctive snoring of Yakov, most likely only a few compartments away. Viktor knew that if Yakov was asleep, and snoring like that, it was well after midnight. Viktor put his head back against the window, fogged up because of the temperature difference. He was most likely the only awake person on the entire train, not counting the engine driver. In the silent train, surronded with the darkness that seemed like a void that swallowed the whole world up, Viktor felt... weirdly free. Like that darkness could lead him anywhere he'd want to go. No borders, no etiquette, no obligations, just freedom.

Viktor felt good. The window felt cold against his skin, the spot already going numb, but Viktor didn't mind it. He didn't remember the last time when looking out of the window felt so peaceful, despite not seeing a single shadow. Despite still having in mind the reason behind him being on the train.

He was thinking about everything his father had told him, about how important that visit is going to be for both countries. Viktor could not afford to mess it up, and the fact that it was the first time he would attend such a meeting while not being at his father's side made him even more nervous. He had to do it right. For Yuri. For Russia.

The train jounced once again. Viktor wasn't expecting it, and didn't prepare his head for yet another impact against the window. He hissed in pain, silently cursing the stupid glass for being so hard. The cold of Viktor's own skin soothed the painful bruise Viktor really hoped he wouldn't get, but the pounding in his head reminded. He craddled his head in his own hands, hoping that would help. It did bring some relief.

“What did you do, Vitya?” Viktor's head shot up, an action he insantly regretted as the pounding returned. Another hiss and groan left his lips. Yakov, or rather the silhouette of him, stood in the door, his expression unreadable as the dim light wasn't enough to light it up.

“I banged my head up against the window.” Yakov chuckled, amused. There was no sympathy in this man!

“Who normal falls asleep with their head propped up against a window?”

“I do.”

“I asked who normal.” Viktor huffed in annoyance at being made fun of by his teacher again. Yakov seemed to have some mercy left in his icy cold heart, as he came to check on Viktor. His calloused fingers were nowhere as graceful and delicate as his wife's used to be when she used to have to take care of Viktor's every bruise and wound as a child. Yakov touched Viktor's forhead, feeling around the bruise; it wasn't big, and the redness that surely was there should fade before breakfast. But, just to teach Viktor to be more careful, Yakov's finger moved on the middle of the bruise and pressed hard.

“ _Ouch!_ Be more gentle!” Viktor yanked his head away from his teacher's hands.

“You have a hard skull, you'll be okay.” Viktor let that implied insult slide; Yakov, of all people, would know how thick headed Viktor was in every meaning possible. How could he not, after years of trying to get through it to put some knowledge and sense into Viktor's flat brain.

“Why are you awake?” Viktor asked; usually, Yakov was a very heavy sleeper. Nothing could wake him up, and trust Viktor when he says he had tried. But, when someone had snores as loud as Yakov had, then they had to be used to sleeping in noise. Both Viktor and Yuri hoped they wouldn't end up snoring like Yakov did. Or to lose hair like Yakov did, one of the biggest fears of Viktor. That might be connected to how Viktor would anger Yakov on daily basis, but still. Viktor wanted to keep his long, thick hair as long as it was possible.

“Those bloody trains, they shake so much I've gotten a headache. I was thinking about getting something to drink, and then try to sleep again. You want some?” Viktor shook his head; he wasn't in the mood for late night drinking. Yakov grumbled something unintelligible and crossed the short distance between the door and drink cabinet on wobbly legs. Bottles inside were wrapped up in fluffy farbic, tight next to each other, so they wouldn't clink and be annoying.

Yakov sat, or rather threw his body onto the chair that screeched under the sudden weight with a loud groan. The glass he put on a verge of a table threatened to fall down after another jounce. The bottle made a satisfying _pop_ sound when Yakov pulled the cork and helped himself with a small shot.

“Good... You sure you don't want some?” Yakov offered the bottle to Viktor who shook his head again. Yakov made a face, mumbled something about weak teenagers these days, and poured some vodka more into the glass.

“I don't want to get a hangover on a train. Not my perfect place to feel sick.” Yakov drank more vodka with a loud gulp and sigh after placing the glass back on the table. This time in the middle, so it wasn't in danger of falling.

A silence fell between them, only interrupted by the sounds of train going further and further to the east. It has been a while since Viktor's last visit to eastern parts of Russia, and even then it he didn't even reach Novoviktorayevsk. Now he was going all the way to the eastern shore. He's going to see a completely new Russia. The thought excited him; would cities look like Saint Petersburg or Moscow, or would they have something unique to the east and its culture? Would people look the same, or were they closer to Chinese or Japanese in apperance? There wasn't much nobility living on those lands, and those who did looked awfully European, usually moving to new land after the expansion of Russia.

“Yakov?” Viktor waited for an answer that Yakov was listening; he started to make some growling sounds, and Viktor wasn't sure if that was just Yakov being a mad Yakov, or if he had fallen asleep.

“What, Vitya?” Viktor pressed his lips into a thin line before wording his worry.

“Do you think people will be happy to see me? Truly happy?” Yakov opened his eyes and fixed him with a stare before grabbing the bottle again. This time, the tipple spilled over the edge of the glass. Viktor watched Yakov down a whole glass of vodka before answering to Viktor's question.

“They have no reason to be sad. There might be some cretins who'll try to make people go against you; ignore them. You're a good Tsarevich, people love you. It's obvious people from Novoviktorayevsk will adore you.” Viktor wasn't convinced. Not all people loved him. Not all people loved the royal family. There were people who hated them, who despised them, Viktor knew that. They called themselves revolutionists, bolsheviks. Tsar Alexander called them barbarians, and told Viktor not to worry, that they weren't strong enough to do any harm. That they weren't _smart_ enough to do anything other than bark just like the dogs Alexander kept for hunting.

Viktor must have been pulling a face, because Yakov put the glass down with such force it was a miracle it didn't shatter.

“I know what you're think about, Vitya. Don't. They're not worthy of your time, nor your nerves. I believe your father told you what he thinks about them.”

“Yes. Dogs bark loudly, but in the end they come back with their tails between their legs.” Viktor didn't like that comparison; not only he believed dogs deserved better, but Viktor didn't want to fight those people. He believed they could come to an agreement that'd be beneficial for both the crown and citizens.

“Exactly. Now, I'm going to sleep, and I suggest you try to do so, too.” Yakov rose from the chair, his steps, surprisingly, less wobbly than before. He closed the door with too much force, and Viktor let out a quiet laugh at the curse Yakov whispered a little too loud. Soon enough, there was distinctive sound of bed creaking under his weight. Loud snoring followed after just a few minutes.

Viktor didn't sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

If Viktor were to name a feeling of the little feast the mayor of Novoviktorayevsk prepared in the celebration of Viktor's first time in the city, it would be happiness. People were smiling, the city was looking beautiful and colourful, the children were screaming loudly. Beer and vodka were poured in streams, much to Yakov's approval, and Viktor felt more beautiful than ever.

He asked guards to let some children come to him, tell him stories of their elders, and sit next to him during the feast. Yakov, although at first was displeased with Viktor's idea, now looked almost approving. Some girls made Viktor a flower crown, an actual flower crown! Viktor had seen them on paintings, but never had held one in his hands, and now, now there was one on his silver hair. Viktor teared up when he was presented with it. Such a small thing, but gave him so much happiness.

Viktor left Novoviktorayevsk the next day, feeling better and assured in the belief that he was loved by his people. By the people who had to clean up after the feast, bury the victims of tramplings at the sight of the food they lacked, and move on with their lives.

 

* * *

 

Japan was... Nothing Viktor expected it to be.

It was much more beautiful.

The sky seemed much more blue than the one in Russia, the colours were so vivid, so vibrant. The flowers were gorgeous, and had probably the nicest fragrant Viktor had ever a pleasure to smell. They were called wisteria, Viktor was told, the purple cascades of tiny flowers hanging over his head. The Japanese man who was assigned as their guide told him, in a very broken Russian, that if Viktor were this enamored with wisterias, next time he should visit Japan in March. He claimed that sakura, that is the cherry blossoms, were much more magical in their delicate beauty. Viktor, if not stopped by Yakov, was ready to make a stupid decision to stay in Japan until the next year. There was just so much to see!

Viktor was excited to see the landscape, see the people, see different buildings, different trees; even dogs were different. A cute, fluffy dog that resembled a browned marshmallow with a funniest bark quickly became one of Viktor's favourite breeds. Maybe one day...

Viktor tried to keep up with everything he saw in his journal, but there was just to much to write about. Viktor had been thinking about trying to draw some sights from memory, but he kept being distracted and his drawings turned into a meaningless scribbling. His hand hurt already from writing too fast, he couldn't keep up with the changing sights outside of the window of the car he was put into right after leaving the ship. The roads were narrow, how did the driver manage to drive at some places were beyond Viktor.

People they were passing by reacted completely different from Russians. It was clear there was someone important inside the car, with the soldiers encircling it, but, unlike Russians who even tried to keep up with the train to see Viktor, the Japanese kept their distance. Smaller kids were even running away; the guide explained it was most likely the first time for them to see a car. It was surprising, to say the least. They were expensive, Viktor knew that much; it was the same in Russia. But, for them to be so rare that some people haven't seen a car in their life?

It was an early morning when Viktor stepped down from the ship onto the Japanese soil; now, that sun was high in the sky. Viktor wasn't sure where did all the time go. It seemed like a short trip from the port to imperial palace. Was Viktor so taken with everything surrounding him that he didn't notice the passing time?

The Emperor was, well, nice. As nice as an emperor of a country your own country just fought against in a war can be. All things considered, he was very welcoming. Or at least the language barrier made him seem like it; Viktor had no idea what was the true meaning of words the emperor used, nor whether or not were they used to downgrade Viktor's status as the Tsarevich of a country that had just lost the war. From his past experiences Viktor knew there might be a possibility for this, when people gossiped about him in French, thinking he couldn't understand a word. He could. And it took all of his self-control not to make a comment or two. He had to pretend he didn't understand anything, and that nothing had hurt his feelings, for the sake of Russia.

Viktor kept smiling, complimented the emperor's daughters making them giggle, for which they received an admonitory earful later, agreed for a sparring match with the prince, and was finally let to his rooms to refresh. He was tired, and wanted nothing more than to fall face first on a bed, and sleep for the next day or two, but there was a dinner Viktor had to attend. It was a dinner, more like a small banquet, orchestrated for Viktor himself; it'd be a serious faux pas if he were to miss it. So, despite how magnetic the bed seemed to be, Viktor ignored it, making promises to himself he'll try to flee from the dinner as soon as possible.

 

* * *

 

Viktor wasn't allowed to flee the dinner as soon as possible.

The dinner itself lasted for almost two hours, and soon proved to be only a prelude to the evening. Artists and dancers kept coming and coming, often appearing from a thin air. There was some sort of a story they were presenting, every act connected, but Viktor's mind was too tired to focus on it. If it wasn't for Yakov, who was sat next to him and, bless his soul, kept pinching Viktor's arm to keep him awake, Viktor'd most likely be lulled to sleep by the music.

Thankfully, the Emperor wasn't paying attention to Viktor, fully invested in whatever was happening on the stage. The man clapped possibly the loudest in the room, often accompanied with some Japanese words of approval. Viktor believed there was a reason for the Emperor's delight upon watching the performance, he truly did, but there was only so much Viktor's tired mind could understand, and the foreign art of Japanese dance wasn't on the list.

Yakov pinched Viktor particularly hard when the Emperor – Musuhito? Viktor couldn't remember how the proper pronunciation of the man's name sounded like – leaned to whisper to Viktor.

“The next performer is the pupil of my beloved dancer. I hope you will enjoy it just as much as I do.” the interpreter translated for Viktor. Viktor smiled politely, nodded, and returned to his previous position. His knees went numb hours ago from sitting on them.

A woman came onto the stage, an instrument the interpreter named _shamisen_ in her hand. Okukawa Minako, the interpeter whispered to Viktor, Japan's pride and joy. A talented dancer who now, due to her age, decided to step into shadows and let her pupil shine.

A person who came onto the stage after her made Viktor breathless.

A beauty, a vision, a miracle that put every ancient goddess to shame. Viktor didn't hear it when the interpreter said the boy's name– at least Viktor thought he was a boy, but with how delicate his features were, and how beautiful his silk clad body looked, Viktor wasn't so sure. Viktor didn't hear anything, exept for the music, didn't see anything but Him.

His movements were so graceful, steps delicate, and his whole body created a story. Viktor could see the sky, smell the flowers, feel the wind on his skin, and hear a distant sound of a river. Everything seemed so real, and He was in the middle of it, more radiant than the sun itself.

The performance ended way too soon for Viktor's liking. He was willing to give up his precious sleep he was so deprived of if it meant he could watch the boy dance. Viktor would give him everything the boy could even think of, if only he would dance for Viktor once more. He was just so mesmerizing, his beauty etheral; he could get everyone on their knees with a single smile. He already had Viktor on his knees, and Viktor didn't want to stand up.

There must be a way to bring that gorgeous creature to Russia.

But first Viktor would have to realise he was making a fool of himself, standing in the middle of the room, eyes locked with the beautiful brown ones. Rosy cheeks got even redder, probably from the exertion, a beautiful addition to his round face. Pink lips were open, but his breath was light, as if the dance routine wasn't tiring at all. For the first time in his entire life, Viktor wanted to hold someone, lock the boy in his arms, place a loving kiss on those plush lips, get lost in those chocolate brown eyes that seemed to have more stars than on the clear night sky. No one could rival with his beauty.

“ _Vy angel?”_ Viktor asked, not aware he just spoke Russian to a clearly Japanese holy being. The angel's already big eyes got even bigger in surprise, beautiful brown irises all Viktor could focus on.

“ _Nyet, ya Yuuri.”_ the angel answered in broken Russian, his voice the most beautiful sound Viktor has ever had a pleasure listen to. Viktor wondered briefly if the angel – _Yuuri_ – could sing, with a voice like this, but decided not to ask; he could search the whole world, and there would be no dancer better than Yuuri. Viktor didn't need the same with singing.

“ _Vy prekrasny.”_ Yuuri's breath hitched at the compliment. Another beautiful reaction.

Viktor died, didn't he? He died, and apparently did something good in his life. Otherwise, no angel would come to collect his soul. Not such a beautiful angel at least.

“Katsuki Yuuri is very talented, isn't he?” the interpreter translated what the Emperor Mutsuhito – Yakov said that was the correct name – said. Talented, no. Yuuri was extraordinary, natural at what he was doing, a pleasure personified.

“Indeed, he is.” Viktor agreed, never taking his eyes off the boy, whose blush made him look even more delectable. It seemed like he wasn't used to being in spotlight, or at least not for such a long period of time. Such a shame. Viktor wanted to watch him some more, look at him for as long as it was humanly possible, get lost in the stories and music his body created.

Yuuri smiled sweetly, and thanked shyly in Russian. Broken, absolutely adorable Russian. Viktor felt a need to listen to that butchered Russian more flood his mind. He got an idea, an idiotic one, but he wouldn't be Viktor Alexandrovich Romanov if he didn't get idiotic ideas every now and then.

“Your Imperial Majesty, may I ask for this boy to accompany me during my stay in Japan?” the Emperor looked surprised when the interpreter translated Viktor's request. He asked Yuuri something in Japanese, but it was the woman who played shamisen who answered for him. She was Yuuri's teacher, Viktor recalled, and it seemed the final decision was to be made by her.

“Your Majesty.” she addressed Viktor with a heavily accented Russian. “May I ask you what kind of escort do you expect my Yuuri to be? He doesn't know Russian well, he won't be a perfect companion for a discourse.” Viktor understood what she meant. Understood it all too well, and wished his request was understood to be pure just like his fascination with Yuuri was.

“Not the kind you think of. I just want his companionship. If that makes you feel better, I promise not be alone with him, nor bring him to my room.” the woman sized Viktor up, her eyes weirdly reminding Viktor of Lilia Baranovskaya. It was clear that she was thinking of a way to refuse without is being seen as an insult.

Suddenly, Yuuri spoke up to his teacher. Viktor couldn't understand a single word that was said, but it was clear they were arguing about something. The Japanese Emperor Viktor once again forgot the name of cleared his throat loudly, clearly impatient. Finally, The woman let out a sigh of defeat.

“Your Majesty, I leave Yuuri in your care. Please, be kind to him.”

“Of course.” as if Viktor wanted to do anything but, especially when he was aware that they couldn't really refuse. Yuuri smiled nervously, and bowed deeply before Viktor.

“I be honored to be with Tsarevich.”

 

* * *

 

The next day Viktor woke up early, surprising even himself, seeing how tired he was the night before. He didn't even remember the exact moment he had fallen asleep the previous evening, or even his evening routine. Viktor was just glad that in his sleep deprived state he was conscious enough to sleep in a proper bed; he did not need to have backache, not today. Not when he was blessed with a day with beautiful Yuuri.

The same Yuuri who Viktor saw in his dream. He was dancing for Viktor, and Viktor only, others forgotten. Dream Yuuri was beconing Viktor to come to him, come closer, taste the sinful fruit that was Yuuri himself, forget about his duties, forget about the world, because only Yuuri should matter. Viktor should think of Yuuri only, look only at Yuuri, worship him, create portraits and ikons of him.

About five minutes after waking up, with the memory of his dream still fresh, Viktor decided he had it _bad_. Real bad. Better not tell Yakov.

The breakfast was a torture, each second he was forced to mind his mannerims, and act accordingly to etiquette was a second taken away from his time with Yuuri. So when he was, finally, allowed to go, Viktor wanted to run through the castle, jump out of the window, whatever could get him to Yuuri faster. It was terrifying, what the boy Viktor saw only once did to his reasoning.

The garden Viktor agreed to meet with Yuuri was spectacular. Filled with flowers and trees Viktor had no name for, the same with the birds that flew over his head and sang their songs, it was so peaceful Viktor wouldn't mind spending the whole day in here. And he most likely would have to, seeing how both Russian and Japanese courts didn't allow Viktor to leave the grounds of the palace. What was once almost a punishment for something Viktor didn't do, now seemed more doable. With beautiful Yuuri by his side, Viktor wouldn't mind spending a whole day sat in one place.

He wanted to see Yuuri already!

A guard showed him the way to where Yuuri was supposed to wait for him; he was an older man, with a spark of mischief in his eye. Viktor thought he had hidden his excitement well, but he beamed at the thought of seeing Yuuri, and it was visible for everyone who spared a single glance at Viktor.

A bench, under one of the bigger trees in this part of the garden, next to the stream; even for a person with a bad sense of direction like Viktor it wasn't hard to find the place. When he arrived there he could see a silhouette of the boy from the distance. The sight made Viktor's heart soar, despite him knowing his weird crush at first sight was laughable and not suit for a Tsarevich. But, Viktor already decided to let his heart lead him this time, and leave reason for another time.

After all, who knew how many times in the future Viktor would be allowed to do what his heart would tell him to.

“Yuuri!” Viktor called out happily. The boy seemed to be startled by the sound of his voice, and for a short moment it seemed like Yuuri wanted to turn around and run away. He didn't, and it surprised Viktor how happy it made him feel.

“Hello, Your Majesty.” Yuuri said, and smiled that adorable smile of his, squishy cheeks just as rosy as the night before, if not more in the sunlight. Hair darker than charcoal looked even richer in the contrast to Yuuri's light skin, brown eyes that Viktor couldn't help but fall in love instantly hidden behind a fringe, and oh God, he was even more beautiful than yesterday, much more beautiful than Viktor remembered, and they say people tend to overexaggerate in their dreams, so how was it possible, and now Yuuri must think Viktor's an idiot because he was so taken with the sight in front of his eyes that Viktor tripped over his own legs and fell to the floor with grace of a log.

Yuuri gasped in surprise and shock, and the gravel crunched under his feet as he run to Viktor's side.

“Your Majesty, you safe?” Yuuri's Russian was so bad, it was comical, but Viktor didn't want to make any comments about it. Just in case it would result in Yuuri not saying a single word for the whole day. Viktor suspected Yuuri wasn't allowed to leave no matter what would happen, but no one could force him to speak.

Yuuri crouched a few feets away from Viktor, clearly unsure if he could touch Viktor to help him get up. Viktor wouldn't mind, but it was Japan, there were different rules Yuuri went by; he'd just have to show Yuuri him being close to Viktor is more than welcomed.

“I'm okay, Yuuri, I'm okay. Just a bruise, see?” Viktor showed his palm that took the most of the damage of the fall as a proof. The skin was red and hot, and pulsated with pain, but it was nothing Viktor couldn't live with. Yuuri seemed like he wanted to fuss over it, but was at the loss of words to use to name his worries, and decided to let the matter go. Instead he smiled.

“I happy.” Viktor got back to his knees and dusted his clothes off. Nothing was torn or dirtied beyond repair, which was good. Yakov would have Viktor's head if he were to damage any of his clothing.

“Did you wait long for me?” Yuuri shook his head before answering.

“No. I just come here.” Viktor hoped it was a truth. He was perfectly aware he was notorious in being late, going by the rule '10 minutes late is not late'. It wasn't even his fault. Viktor tried to fix that infamous feature of his, he really did, but so far nothing had worked for him. It was as if he was cursed, and couldn't help but be late.

“Still, I beg your forgiveness.” Viktor bowed, emitting an aura of a prince from European fairy tales, making Yuuri giggle. He tried to hide his smile behind his right hand, but Yuuri's eyes smiled with his mouth. They shined even more than usual, and Viktor felt himself fall some more.

He always knew he was a hopeless romantic, but this was clearly a surfeit. Who normal falls in love this quick?

Yuuri's giggles quieted down, “I forgive.” he said, with his voice muffled by his hand, and, well, Viktor realised that he wasn't normal.

“What Your Majesty want do?” Yuuri asked, his voice sweet and polite, almost as if he wanted make up for his bad Russian with it. Viktor didn't mind it, he understood Yuuri perfectly well with his bad grammar and funny pronunciaton. He also found it pretty admirable, because as far as he knew Yuuri had no reason to know the language.

“How about we take a walk? Indulge me with some conversation, Yuuri. Also, please, call me Viktor.” maybe it was a habit from home, where everyone, from a minister to a maid, called him by his first name, being called Your Majesty made Viktor feel uncomfortable. He knew there was a huge status gap between Yuuri and him, but it didn't mean Viktor liked to be reminded of it. He wanted Yuuri to see them as equals, and that couldn't be done with Yuuri calling him names Viktor didn't like.

Sadly, Yuuri shook his head.

“Your Majesty is Your Majesty. I cannot call by name.” it must be that Japanese respect thing Viktor was warned of before leaving Saint Petersburg. If Viktor thought he was respected in Russia, then Japan brought that to a completely new level.

“But I'm asking you to.” Viktor asked once more, but Yuuri shook his head again.

“I cannot.”

“It's just us here. I promise not to tell anyone, if you're afraid someone will get mad.”

“Your Majesty is Your Majesty. I am Yuuri.” the 'just' was left unsaid, but Viktor understood it too well. He also understood from Yuuri's tone that the argument was over. Defeated, Viktor turned and started to walk down the path, glad when he heard Yuuri's delicate steps right behind him. The boy wasn't mad at him, or at least not enough to leave. Respect or not, Yuuri didn't seem like a person to stay when annoyed with someone. He seemed like he'd be able to leave if Viktor were to do something stupid, or try to push boundaries.

They walked for a while in silence. Viktor had so much to ask, but didn't know where to start. He wanted to ask about Japan, about Yuuri, about his dancing, about his plans. Viktor was sure Yuuri must be aiming high, with such a talent there was no way Yuuri'd want anything else. And he seemed to be loved by the Japanese royal family, and Viktor knew from experience artists loved by royalty and nobility achieved great things.

“Where did you learn Russian?” Yuuri looked at Viktor with wide eyes, almost as if he didn't expect the question to pop out somewhere during their talk. Or at least expected to hear something else.

“Minako-sensei... ah, sensei... teacher, Minako teacher lived in Russia. Learn Russian dance for few years. Came back, and learned me dance and Russian.” Minako... he must be talking about the woman from yesterday, the one who was fluent in Russian with a weird accent Viktor couldn't really blame her for. Russian and Japanese were a completely different languages, and Viktor knew that he'd sound just as awkward if he were to try to say something in Japanese.

“Does she teach her every student Russian?”

“No. She don't teach Russian. She a family friend, wants to help, the world change, dance not enough.” Viktor must admit that she was right; the world was changing so fast, everything was so different from what the world looked like just a few decades ago. Dancing, unless a dancer had multiple sponsors, would prove to be tough to get a living from.

“And what does your family do? If you don't mind me asking, of course.” Viktor asked politely, giving Yuuri an opportunity to refuse to answer if he wanted to.

“Parents have onsen, Japanese hot springs. Mama cooks, big sister Mari helps. Mama cooks great. I dance, get money, help when home.”

“Are you home often?”

“No. Hasetsu far away, I dance in Tokyo.” Yuuri's bright eyes lost their spark, and previously sweet smile turned into a sad one. Viktor could see how much he missed his home, and how painful it was to even think about it.

“When was the last time you were home?” Yuuri's brow pinched; he was most likely thinking exactly how much time has passed. Viktor felt a cold shiver run over his spine with each second Yuuri took his time to answer. Was it really so long Yuuri had to think so long about the answer? Weeks, months, maybe years?

“Five years, I think.” Viktor stopped in his tracks abrubtly, shocked with that answer. Yuuri wasn't home for five long years? Viktor himself left home a mere week ago, and he missed it greatly. How sad must Yuuri feel right now, how much pain has Viktor caused with his questions?

“I'm sixteen.” Yuuri added after a short while. Sixteen? Five years away from home? Oh, God, Yuuri was eleven when he left home and hasn't been there since. Viktor felt like crying for the boy. He had been not much older that Yura when he left to Tokyo, Yuuri had been just a child! A child who should be at home, safe and happy, with his family and friends, not living alone. Sure, Viktor thought, Yuuri had his teacher Minako, but there was something special about living with your parents. Yuuri couldn't seek his father's advice when needed, couldn't go to his mother when he was feeling down, couldn't go to his sister when he needed reasurrance like Yura would come to Viktor. And Viktor felt so bad for the boy, whose smile, previously lovely, now seemed strained, and whose eyes full of stars were full of sadness and longing. How could Viktor be so blind he didn't notice any of this before?

Viktor felt a sudden urge to protect this boy. He didn't want to see a single tear leave his eyes. If Viktor could, he'd personally take Yuuri back home, and make him stay there for as long as the boy would feel like it.

“Yuuri, I...”

“Your Majesty.” a guard, one of Viktor's own, interrupted them. The man had probably the worst timing in the whole universe, or maybe, just maybe, stopped Viktor from making a reckless decision of sending Yuuri home on Viktor's expense. It wasn't Russia, Viktor had to remember that, here he couldn't do whatever he felt like doing, whatever his heart told him to. It was Japan, and sending one of the servants of the Emperor home, doesn't matter if Viktor's intentions were good or not, would be seen as an insult. Viktor was just a guest, and by doing so he might look like he tried to overpower the master of the house.

“Yes?”

“His Imperial Majesty asks for your attendance in a tea ceremony.” it seemed that was Viktor's cue to leave, despite him wishing to stay with Yuuri longer. He turned away from the guard to look at the boy, who seemed genuinely upset Viktor had to go.

“Please, enjoy the tea, Your Majesty.” Yuuri smiled at Viktor, who, not really knowing why, extended his hand towards the boy. It seemed Yuuri was expecting an European handshake, and let out a surprised gasp when Viktor brought his hand up to his lips, and placed a delicate kiss on the knuckles.

“I hope we can see each other again, my lovely Yuuri.” the blush that appeared on Yuuri's cheeks was gorgeous, and Viktor was this close to kissing his hand again. “Before I leave, may I ask you for a favour?” a single nod was all Yuuri offered Viktor for an answer. “I'd like to hear from you sometimes. Would you do me an honour and give me a permission to exchange letters?” Yuuri seemed to be startled by the request, but Viktor couldn't blame him. Not every day a Russian successor to the throne asks you to become pen pals. Yuuri couldn't be used to hearing such requests.

“But... I don't speak good.” the boy mumbled quietly, looking ashamed of his bad Russian Viktor didn't really mind. He found it endearing, and it was the fact that Yuuri tried to use it despite everything that counted for him.

“You know Russian well enough, Yuuri.”

“And I not interesting. My life boring.”

“I will be happy even if you would write what you have eaten for breakfast.” not to sound like a creep, but Viktor really meant it. Yuuri found his fay to Viktor's heart so quickly and suddenly, and it made Viktor want to know Yuuri more. To know everything about the boy who won the attention, not to say the heart too soon, of the Tsarevich with just a single dance.

Yuuri bit his lip, thinking about Viktor's request. Viktor's heart was beating so fast and loud, he wondered if Yuuri could hear it as well. He didn't recall being this nervous before, or at all to be honest, and wondered if this was what his cousin Mila meant by having butterflies in his stomach.  
  
It felt like centuries have passed before Yuuri gave a shy nod. A simple gesture, but Viktor felt like the happiest man on the earth.  
  
“Write to the castle. They find me.” Viktor nodded vigorously, already thinking what to write in his first letter to Yuuri. Would Yuuri appreciate it more if Viktor wrote about the fun parts of his life, maybe something about Yurachka, or maybe he'd want to know about the more serious part of the Tsarevich's life. Obviously, Viktor wouldn't write about the politics; Yuuri didn't need to know about that, and Viktor wasn't stupid enough to tell him absolutely everything.  
  
“I will. Thank you, Yuuri.” Yuuri bowed deeply when Viktor turned around to follow his guard, and didn't stand upright until Viktor lost the sight of him behind a corner.

 

* * *

 

“You look happy.” Yakov whispered as Viktor took a seat next to him. He could see that the position was straining the old man's already hurting knees, and was surprised Yakov didn't ask for a chair.

Viktor smiled unwittingly at the memory of Yuuri's lovely face. “I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> “Vy angel?” - Are you an angel? (with a plural form of you)  
> “Nyet, ya Yuuri.” - No, I'm Yuuri.  
> “Vy prekrasny.” - You're beautiful
> 
> Also, Yuuri is speaking broken Russian, and since I have no way of writing this fic in multiple languages, his speech is going to be written with a broken English. Just so you know, and won't be surprised why am I butchering English so badly when writing Yuuri in the future.
> 
> Obviously, this story is based on real-life events changed for the purpose of the fiction and AU. I'm a big history nerd, and I know the history of Nikolai II better than the palm of my own hand. It won't follow every historical event, but the ones that will be mentioned you can safely assume as true. 
> 
> Novoviktorayevsk in real life was Novonikolayevsk, named after the Tsar Nikolai II. Now, the city is called Novosibirsk.
> 
> I actually did my Maths and counted how long it would take for Viktor to travel. I do more research than actual writing.
> 
> About that flat brain, in case you were wondering what I meant by that: the more folds a brain has the better. Flat brain would mean someone is helplessly stupid, like Yakov thinks Viktor is.
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave kudos, and maybe even comment, they keep me going and motivate me to write more :)
> 
> Lana's out!  
> Find me on Twitter @fair_lana


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